Studs Terkel Dead at 96

A Hallowe'en that began with the entire globe holding its breath, waiting to hear if Kenneth Anger would, as the man himself predicted, join the choir invisible, has for all practical purposes concluded with news of the passing of Broadcaster and Oral Historian Studs Terkel at the age of 96. As the planet seems to slowly and inexorably drain itself of individuals worthy of admiration, the death of a man who steadfastly refused to accept the term 'ordinary' as descriptive of anyone ought to give us an opportunity to reflect either upon how far we've travelled as a culture, or how low we've fallen.

It ought to; but it won't.

Studs Terkel's life and work are covered, somewhat, in the following Obits:

I'm beginning to suspect Anger's 'I'm going to croak on Halloween' prediction was a scam to alter his standing in some Death Pool somewhere. You know, push the heavy betting towards Halloween '08 and clean up big time when it doesn't happen.

I was saying to someone yesterday how astonishing it is, considering the life he's lived, that Anger has managed to outlive just about every so-called Underground filmmaker of his generation (he made his first film, after all, in 1943). Somehow I don't believe any of that occult foolishness he's indulged his senses in over the decades has had anything to do with it.

I've only heard a handful of 'Studs Terkel's Wax Museum' shows; not nearly as many as I would like. I read a few years ago that he turned over all his tapes to some foundation in Chi-town. I hope they don't bury them.

I didn't mean to pass over Studs Terkle's death at all. It makes me very sad. But Tom, I'm with you as far as Anger's outliving everyone else in his circle. Given the dabblings in the occult, you kind of gotta wonder.

I watched Rosemary's Baby again last night, which probably is the reason for my Faustian leanings today...

About a year ago last August, Kenneth Anger attended a memorial service for his (former) friend and (former) collaborator Curtis Harrington, He made a bigger spectacle of himself than usual at this shindig, which is saying a lot; interrupting the eulogy repeatedly with corrections, insults, all manner of attention-getting techniques. Somewhere in the middle he announced to the assembled mourners that he was dying of prostate cancer (the potential for jokes on this point are literally endless) and knew the date of his death: Hallowe'en, 2008. The cancer thing turned out to be true . . . he underwent surgery for it in February of this year . . . but, as we now know, his prediction clock was otherwise in need of repairs.

Perhaps he decided to hang around and vote on Tuesday; who knows (how would you like to be at that polling station?).

Julie:

For Faustian leanings, I'd say Rosemary's Baby is as good an inspiration as you could ask for!

With faux populism pandering by canidates his passing especially stings. What I liked about him and his work is how it was done without a whiff of condescension. It's more than everyone has a story, it's that everyone's story matters. We've lost that faith in ourselves and each other. I don't think it's extinct I'm just not sure how to get it back.

With faux populism pandering by canidates his passing especially stings. What I liked about him and his work is how it was done without a whiff of condescension. It's more than everyone has a story, it's that everyone's story matters. We've lost that faith in ourselves and each other. I don't think it's extinct I'm just not sure how to get it back.